


Hand in Glove

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micheletto has made careful study of the gloves these Borgia wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in Glove

It is said that one can tell much about a person by the way they dress. Micheletto knows this to be true, but he studies not the shapes of bodices or the length of trains, or the yardage of ribbon or trims of lace. Neither does he study the design of codpieces or the colourful flashes of silk that show through slashed velvet. 

The thickness of a leather jerkin and how well it will turn a blade, the possibility of a boot heel containing a hidden stiletto—these he considers, but nothing further than that. Those who dress to impress make little impression on him, save in one vital detail.

Their gloves.

Some people say one should always examine a man’s shoes before forming an opinion of his worth. Micheletto has stolen plenty of shoes in his time. He has walked many miles in a dead man’s boots. Like the rest of his body, his feet are accustomed to roughness; blisters are welcomed as an indication of how far he’s travelled. Feet, and shoes, are the means by which one comes and goes. But hands—ah, now, hands are the things that truly matter.

He kills with his hands. As a priest’s hands wield the sacred mysteries to name an infant, to bind a man and woman in holy matrimony, to bring comfort to the sick, and to shrive the dead, so Micheletto’s hands hold profane power. In many ways, he is an anti-priest. The thought brings some small measure of amusement. There once existed anti-popes, so why not anti-priests? Perhaps this is why he finds himself to drawn to the Borgia family, and especially to his master Cesare, a cardinal who would cast off his eminence and his scarlet and be a warrior.

Micheletto has made careful study of the gloves these Borgia wear. They tell him more than do the faces they present to the world, more than their smiles and sumptuous garments.

His Holiness, for example. Micheletto has rarely seen the Pope wear gloves, and thought at first that His Holiness refused gloves because he kept his hands clean. Others did his labours; others hid their bloodstained hands. But then one day he saw His Holiness upon a balcony wearing hunting gauntlets, a peregrine perched upon his fist, and Micheletto recognised that this was the true face of the papacy. Gloves worn for sport and for practicality: two things that should stand against one another, but which come together in Rodrigo Borgia.

The Lady Lucrezia wears gloves of finest kidskin. They look soft upon her hands and seem to invite caresses, seem to suggest that her hands, too, are as soft and pretty as her gloves. Yet inside there is no silken lining to protect her delicate white skin, no softly-turned leather. Just the seams, and in cold weather the stitching rubs and irritates. Micheletto knows this trick, this subtle reminder. No matter how high she soars, the Lady Lucrezia will never allow herself to forget.

The Gonfaloniere is careless with his gloves. He demands that his swords be oiled and his armour polished, but his gloves bear the impressions of his teeth. Juan gnaws at his gloves, nervous energy making him nibble up the inside of his thumb or bite the tips of his fingers. Over time, the stitching frays and the leather rubs, and for all the smart silks he wears, Juan’s ragged gloves make him look like a peasant.

As for His Eminence the Cardinal... Micheletto likes to meditate upon his master’s hands clad in leather. Like his Holy Father, Cesare wears gloves for practicality. A most sensible man, is Cesare Borgia; a thoughtful man, too, for his gloves hide his sins, and he does not then pass his sins on to the faithful to whom he ministers.

His gloves are a kindness of soft, worked leather; gleaming on the back where they stretch across the span of his hand and the clench of his knuckles, creased across the palm where his grip has tightened and tightened. Micheletto knows the scent of those gloves both inside and out. He has traced his tongue across the palm and tasted the fingertips; he has felt the warmth of His Eminence’s hand through the cool, indifferent barrier of the tanned hide.

Occasionally, when he fails a task, Micheletto feels the heat of a blow, delivered in anger that’s quick to melt into knowledge. That’s what he likes best, when Cesare strikes him and splits his lip, and his blood streaks the leather of Cesare’s glove.

His blood will stain the hide, sink into it, and they will become one, he and Cesare. Without the need for a more intimate touch, they will become one, and Micheletto is content.


End file.
